The Dying Breath: A Forensic Mystery

did was in some ways understandable. That it must be hard to live apart from everyone else, and for the first time she, Cammie, could see the world from his side. She told him he was not alone. Back and forth, back and forth, they typed for an hour, then two. Justin paced behind her while she transcribed, urging her to add personal details wherever they fit so that Kyle knew the words were coming from her. Her father arrived, too worried to say anything, his paw of a hand resting on the top of her head before he sat in a chair to watch the drama unfold. The female CBI agent, Chris, kept up a constant stream of talk over the phone with a judge who was waiting to grant a warrant at a moment’s notice. The muscles in Cameryn’s back were a mass of knots as she wrote words she did not believe. Her fingers, at first cold, had slowly turned to ice.
    Give yourself up. Please. It’s the only way.
    That message was repeated in various ways, just as Andrew told her to do. And, exactly as he predicted, Kyle’s writing became more personal. He spoke of his rage, his despair, the sense of apartness he felt from the rest of the human race. He told her of his crushing loneliness and the fact that only she understood his need for death, because she, too, was drawn to that place; it was a rope, he said, that would lead them both back to the living. The last line he wrote was that he loved her. He typed the words again and again.
    “All right, I think we’ve got him where we want him.” Andrew’s voice could barely contain his excitement. He pointed to the screen. “It’s showtime. Tell him you want to hear his voice. Tell him you need to hear it.”
    Kyle, I want to talk to you. I need to hear your voice.
    She felt as though someone had physically punched her in the gut. The message back took longer this time:
    The minutes on my phone are gone. I bought a disposable phone and the minutes are gone. We have to type.
    “This is it,” Andrew said. He took a deep breath and blew it between his teeth. “Tell him to use Leather Ed’s. If he forgets we can trace a regular cell phone, we got him. Try, Cammie.”
    Please call me on Leather Ed’s phone. I know you have it. I need to talk to you. It’s important that I hear your voice even if it’s only for a minute.
    She stared at her blank screen. Everyone had crowded inside her small room and she could feel their collective body heat; her grandmother, her father, Andrew, Chris, Sheriff Jacobs, and Justin, each quietly waiting on pins and needles. Justin stood behind her, his hands gripping her shoulders as he stared, expectant, at the screen. “He’s not answering. Maybe we scared him off,” he said softly. “Maybe we pushed too hard.”
    “We had to make our move,” Andrew replied. “The cell phone is our only hope. Chris has a judge at the ready. We’ll have the warrant within seconds and we can trace the cell phone using locater pings. The guy needs to call. Just one mistake.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Pick up the phone, O’Neil. Call. Just call.”
    And then, like an answer to prayer, Cameryn’s BlackBerry went off in her back pocket. The spit had dried in her mouth, as she held up the screen and said the two words she never wanted to say. “It’s him.”

Chapter Fourteen

    CAMERYN PACED BACK and forth in front of Justin’s desk, anxious and infuriated by his apparent calm. He was in his too-small office chair, one finger pressed in his ear as he spoke to Sheriff Jacobs. His feet were propped on his desk, the tips of his boots so scuffed they resembled sandpaper.
    “How close are you?” He waited a moment before replying, “Good. No, she’s fine. Nervous, of course, but keeping her here with me is the right thing to do. Yeah, I’ll tell her. Let me know the second you arrest him.”
    “Tell me what?” she demanded as soon as the phone returned to the hook.
    “That they’ve still got the signal loud and strong. It’s coming from the Old Hundred Mine, which is exactly where O’Neil said he was. The police will be there in less than five minutes.”
    “Five minutes.” She resumed pacing. “What if he’s not there?”
    “Not possible. While you were talking to him the FBI was able to run a locator trace, which went right to Leather Ed’s cell phone. He’s there, Cammie. The entire cavalry is descending on the Old Hundred Mine right now. Oh, and the sheriff also told me to tell you that even though it’s hard, you need to relax.